My Only Exception
by partyat221bwithbatman
Summary: When John finds Sherlock a new flat-mate, Sherlock begins to feel a new emotion. Sorry about the awful summary, but yeah. First story, reviews are welcome, appreciated and encouraged! I do not own anyone besides my O.C., everyone else belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and/or the BBC. [Sherlock/OC]
1. Chapter 1: Accidents Happen

My Only Exception

**Chapter One: Accidents Happen**

John and Sherlock ran after the suspect. Sherlock was no doubt right that they had their man. He fit the description and M.O. perfectly, not to mention the obvious signs that he was lying during his interrogation: touching his face, throat and mouth repeatedly, avoiding eye contact, limited expression, defensive, unconsciously placing his cup between himself and Lestrade, implying answers instead of actually giving answers etcetera. Sometimes Sherlock appreciated the fact that Lestrade filmed the interrogations and let him see them, though he wouldn't tell Lestrade directly.

Suspect James Hardon was not the fittest of men and started to slow. It wasn't long before the duo caught up to him. Hardon panicked and pulled out a pearly black revolver from his hoodie to point directly at John.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Do you honestly think I'm stupid enough to not know that you're bluffing? It's obvious! You're shaking like a lunatic!"

He started to walk toward Hardon, who held out his hand in defence and tightened his grip on the revolver, "Oi! I mean it! I'll end 'im! 'e's as good as dead 'angin round you anyway!"

John forcibly raised his hands, "Come on now, mate. I'm sure you don't want to do that. After all, you were only an accomplice during the murders, weren't you? If you come quietly and tell us who you're working with, you could possibly walk out of this with little charge or sentence." He was trying to address the situation calmly.

He had a way with words, John. He could do something Sherlock could never do: talk to people and understand their feelings. That was something that Sherlock envied John about. But Sherlock envied a lot of people in honest truth, only he didn't feel the need to tell anyone besides his Mind Palace his thoughts.

Although, sometimes John was as daft as he looked. People are stubborn and don't just "come quietly". People like Hardon always had to have the last word, especially in an argument.

"Oh, come off it, ya bloody berk! I'm not goin' anywhere. You, 'owever, are goin' straight to 'ell, where ya came from!" This was the moment when Sherlock came to his senses. This man, James Hardon, had actually killed people, despite being only an accomplice. He did the dirty work for his partner. Hardon was going to shoot John Watson.

It happened in a flash. John had only just closed his eyes for impact and Sherlock was about to tackle him at the waist, when time stopped for a split second.

Sherlock heard the fire of a gun and a crash just before he and John made impact with the ground. The men looked in Hardon's direction only to see that he was on the ground unconscious, the metal lid of a bin clattered at the side of his head.

"You know, I was the Ultimate Frisbee champion in high school, Mr. Holmes? Got a good aim I s'pose." A voice, recognizably and utterly familiar female, came from another part of the open-ended alleyway.

Within minutes the voice had an owner. Walking rather quickly, came a girl only just younger than that of Sherlock. As soon as he saw her silhouette, it hit him: the girl John mistook for a man in Hyde Park (sometimes the quiet doesn't help him think) . If she hadn't worn such an over-sized jacket, the mistaken identity wouldn't have occurred.

* * *

_A few hours earlier…_

"_I know we're close! I just have to think a little more," Sherlock paced up and down the path when he unexpectedly ran into another human, knocking the person to the ground, "God! Can't humanity just watch where they're going!"_

_John gave him a look of disapproval, he'd been getting those looks more often lately. "To be honest, Sherlock, _you_ ran into _him_ with your goddamn pacing… Here, sir, let me help." He offered his hand to the person on the cement. _

"_Thank you, but the last time I checked, I was a female."_

_Sherlock looked over to see a tomato-red John Watson and stifled a laugh. The girl brushed herself off and Sherlock took her in: long dirty-blonde hair, over-sized dark jacket and… jeans? Obviously not from England, the tanned face was a dead giveaway and judging the slight accent, Australian which explained why she was so bundled up, Australia was dry and hot. But why was she here, of all places? _

"_Oh God, I am so sorry. It's just that the jacket is rather big and the hat and scarf cover your face a fair bit and- God I'm sorry." Sherlock gives a slight smirk and resumes his pacing while muttering under his breath._

_The girl laughs a little and pulls the scarf from her neck, "It's really no problem, sir. Three days here and you're the second who's assumed me a guy. By the way, I'm Ava, Ava Quinn," she extends her hand._

"_John Watson," he jabs his thumb in Sherlock's direction, "And that delight is Sherlock Holmes." He said as his words dripped with sarcasm. John took the hand and was slightly taken aback by the girl's rather strong grip. _

_Ava's eyes widened rapidly, "Just the men I was looking for! Jeez, I should have recognised you. How imperfectly perfect for me to, uh… run into you? No pun intended," she took the hat off her head and smoothed her frizzy curls, "I believe I e-mailed you some weeks back, John?"_

_Sherlock sighed, "'Imperfectly perfect'? Judging by your body language and tone, you're very excited and cannot believe that you've found the two people you've been searching for. Nothing at the moment is 'imperfect' to you, Ava Quinn." _

"_Shut up, Sherlock," John's face twisted into one of thought as he remembered a very serious, yet eager e-mail from an Australian girl about the matter of Sherlock Holmes' boredom. John had taken it upon himself to find Sherlock a new flat-mate, since he had moved some time ago and couldn't baby-sit Sherlock anymore. Especially with a baby on the way. _

"_Ah, yes, about the flat-mate. But are you sure you'd want to live with _him_?" This Ava Quinn was an enigma to John. He'd be extremely descriptive of how awful, yet amusing it was to live with one Sherlock Holmes. "It's a, um… big job, I suppose."_

_Sherlock stopped pacing some time ago and just gaped at John. "A new flat-mate? Why the _hell_ would I want a new flat-mate? It's illogical! What's the point if they're just going to get in my way?"_

_Ava placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. "Mr. Watson. I can assure you that there is no need to worry," She turned to face Sherlock, "And Mr. Holmes, get over yourself."_

_John stifled a laugh and turned away for a moment to assess the situation: a sassy, rather pretty girl wanted to live with an egotistical, but brilliant asshole like Sherlock Holmes. It was surreal, John had to admit, but also very interesting._

_In her e-mail, Ava had mentioned that she had worked with the police on the field and in forensics. She was slightly over-qualified to work and live with Sherlock, but the army doctor had to admit, Sherlock was lonely after being so used to living with another human being. But she would be a big help to both of the men. John saw Sherlock every now and then to solve minor cases, but he had Mary and a baby on the way. Family was important, and although Sherlock was almost family; he couldn't stop his love for pestering John._

"_I don't _need _a new flat-mate, John! Why would you go out of your way just to get me a flat-mate?"_

_John rolled his eyes, "Just because, Sherlock! You're so used to living with someone that you can't help but pester Mary and I. I can't always be there to solve cases anymore," he said, in an almost hushed tone. "Please, just give her a chance."_

_Ava rocked uneasily on the heels of her flats and tapped Sherlock on the shoulder. "If you'd like, Mr. Holmes, I could meet up with you at… Oh what was the address? Oh yes! 221B Baker Street?"_

"_Correct, Ms. Quinn. Just don't be early or late. And it's Sherlock."_

_Sherlock gasped, turned on his heel and ran. John sighed and ran after the consulting detective. _

"_Wait! When do I get there?" Ava called out to the duo._

_John stopped briefly and called, "Whenever convenient!", before running after the detective._

_Ava stood there bewildered. The men running off into the hectic streets of London only made her want to work with Sherlock Holmes even more. She knew a good opportunity when she saw it and she strived to achieve her desires. And her desire? Adventure._


	2. Chapter 2: An Act of Kindness

**Oh my dear Lord, I did not expect people actually reading this and asking for more. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed and even faved! You have no idea how happy this makes me. Or maybe you do. But, again, this is my first story and I didn't expect this kind of response. Thanks for waiting for this chapter because I chose the absolute worst time to start this: half-yearly exams are this week :-(. But I'll live. I hope. **

**Sooooo, thank you thank you thank you! I still think I'm a crap writer, but I am really happy with this chapter and I hope Sherlock, John and Mrs. H are in character. Any concerns, criticisms, questions, I take them all! Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Two: An Act of Kindness**

John stared at the girl before him. Was it just perfect timing or was she simply at the right place at precisely the right time? Perhaps he would never know. As Ava walked the next few feet toward the men, she let out a small yelp as she tripped on a rock and Sherlock's quick reflexes caught her in a split second.

"Thanks. I suppose that makes us about even now?" Ava smiled and composed herself, pulling the hood of her jacket from her head. "Just a bit clumsy."

"Well, no. You saved my life and it's to take me little more to repay you than Sherlock helping you from a fall." John laughed a little, "Good to see you again, Ava, but I have to be off. Mary'll have my head if I'm late for dinner again. See you later."

And with that, the doctor quickly walked out of the alley to hail a cab. The detective gave a slight wave and turned to the enigma of a person that was Ava Quinn. He studied the girl and chuckled quietly.

Ava raised an eyebrow and said, "Something funny, Mr. Holmes?"

"Not particularly, no. Just wondering how you found us, Ms. Quinn," Sherlock lowered his voice and leaned down slightly, "Although I'm pretty sure I already know."

Ava laughed, "I had no doubts you didn't. I was just in the area, going to the hotel. I heard shouting and what d'ya know? Two of my acquaintances being threatened with a revolver. The bin lid was right there and I used to competitively play Ultimate Frisbee. Too easy from that distance."

Sherlock crossed his arms and nodded. All of his deductions were right, apart from her _competitively_ playing the awful game. He thought it was only a pastime. There was always that one thing. Always and he hated it with a fiery passion. He liked being perfectly correct.

Ava took a sudden interest in her shoes and bit her lip. The man could be a little imposing - intimidating even. Maybe it was her very small stature, only five foot two compared to Sherlock's approximate six feet. She had to crane her neck just to look in his eyes.

"Shall we continue this in Baker Street?" Sherlock asked after a silence that Ava felt held too long.

"Please. It's freaking freezing. I don't know how you Brits live here for so long."

* * *

At the sound of the door closing at 221b Baker Street, a frazzled-looking elderly woman came scrambling to the hall. Although the shade of purple was alarming bright, the woman's demeanour somehow softened the colours.

"Oh, Sherlock! I'm so glad you're back and safe!" the woman shuffled across to Sherlock and cupped his face briefly and he rolled his eyes, "And your brother is upstairs - such a grump that man – he's been here a while and wouldn't leave until he spoke to you. I don't know what about though. Maybe a case…"

"Mrs. Hudson, always lovely to see you and I'll deal with the unfortunate arrival of my brother."

And with a growl, Sherlock stomped up the stairs. Ava heard a door slam and two sets of feet shuffling in the room above. The woman, now known as Mrs. Hudson, gave an apologetic smile.

"His brother comes around every now and then. Sherlock is never in a great mood afterwards, though he's never really in a brilliant mood unless there's a homicide of some sort," Mrs. Hudson mused while staring at the stairs, "I don't think I've seen you around here, dear. I'm Mrs. Hudson."

"Ava Quinn," she said and shook Mrs. Hudson's extended hand, "You might see me more often soon. If all goes well, I might move upstairs."

Mrs. Hudson beamed and pulled her in for a hug. Slightly taken aback by the woman's kind, but very quickly affectionate gesture, Ava wrapped her arms awkwardly around Mrs. Hudson.

"That would be lovely, dear! I hardly ever see another girl around here apart from Mary every once in a while then and with John all moved out; I barely get to have tea with anyone anymore. You see, Sherlock mainly has tea by himself in the morning."

Ava nodded. Sherlock seemed to be the reclusive one in his and John's duo. She may not be able to so thoroughly deduct like the consulting detective, but she could see how accustomed to living with another human he was and without John, he had closed up his walls again. Getting Sherlock Holmes to open up to her would be a lengthy challenge.

Ava's thoughts were interrupted when she heard a gunshot, a yell and something heavy being flipped.

Mrs. Hudson yelped at the noises and Ava tried to comfort her before the woman scurried into her own flat. Ava decided to check on the Holmes brothers.

On her way up the stairs to 221b, her shoelace tripped her up on a step. As her hand hit the ground, she felt something plunge into her palm. A rather large splinter had broken skin and she watched as a stream of blood dripped down her hand. The girl sat up on the step and looked to the door frame to see a bullet wedged into the wood and the exploded shards of wood littered the floor. She sighed in pain and winced as she pinched free the largest bit of the splinter from her palm.

Just as Ava was about to stand, a man she didn't know came out of 221b. A look of confusion crossed his brow for a millisecond but quickly wiped it away. He curtly nodded to her before going down the stairs and closed the door.

Soon after, Sherlock came stumbling to the stairs. With a wild look in his green-grey-blue (Ava really wasn't quite sure. They may differentiate) eyes. They widened even more at the sight of her hand. Sherlock yanked her up by the hood and into the flat and what a sight that place was: a flipped armchair, paper strewn everywhere, a music stand knocked to the ground, the norm of a bit of a domestic.

After lifting up the flipped armchair and depositing her in it, Sherlock fled from the room. She heard a door open and the shuffling of objects down the hall. Soon after, the detective reappeared with tweezers, some paper towel, magnifying glass, antiseptic and a band-aid. So he set to work, sterilising the tweezers with antiseptic and identifying the size and angles of the smaller splinters with the glass. After cleaning the wound a little he started to remove the easy splinters.

The more stubborn splinters made him leave the room again down the stairs. Ava heard Sherlock and only just heard Mrs. Hudson, but only the sound of their voices not the words. Sherlock came up the stairs again with a needle. Ava paled at the sight of the object.

He kneeled beside the chair and whispered, "You have to trust me with this and be absolutely motionless. One move and this could be a lot worse. And quiet. Yes, very quiet. Do you understand, Ava?"

She nodded and quickly looked away and closed her eyes. Ava heard the antiseptic swirl in the bottle and she suspected the needle being sterilised. She felt the needle piece the skin but only the first layer or so, so it was only felt not painful as she expected. Next, Sherlock angled the needle up and scraped the skin a little. The sounds were the worst part.

Then the needle was gone and she felt the wound being opened up with the tweezers. Now that, that made her wince. Ava felt a tap on her knee.

"I need you to hold the magnifying glass for me. I can't see the splinters well enough," She complied and held the glass over her right hand as Sherlock angled it so he could see as clearly as possible, "Yes, right there. Don't move."

Ava watched the detective handle the needle and tweezers in immense concentration and precision. He lifted the splinters ever so slightly with the needle and used the tweezers to extract the wood. In a matter of long, hanging minutes, the job was done and Sherlock cleaned the cuts and placed a large fabric strip over Ava's hand. Even if he had missed any – which was highly unlikely - the removal of the strip would most likely get the excess out.

Sherlock sighed and sat back in his own armchair, rubbing his eyes. He hardly ever blinked during the almost procedure-like extraction of splinters.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," Ava said quietly after a silence.

"Hm? Oh, yes. It was no problem, but I'm blaming you if my eyes start playing up," The detective said and steepled his hands under his chin, "And I told you before, it's Sherlock."

"Do you do this for all your flatmates? I mean, fix them up after they're hurt?" she inquired.

Sherlock closed his eyes and smiled a little, "Well, they haven't been as maladroit as you, Ava."

Ava leaned over and smacked his knee, which only caused him to smile broader.

Ava had read John's blog on the plane from Australia and from his descriptions of Sherlock Holmes; this mending business wasn't a very Sherlock thing to do. Then again, maybe Sherlock acted differently around John, though she highly doubted that. He was just as curt as he was in Hyde Park. Still, Ava had much to find out about the enigma of Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3: Meetings

**Incredibly sorry for the wait. Not much of a response to the last chapter, but I want to continue anyway. Sorry if it's short, I'm not that great at lengths, but a lot's happening. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Meetings**

A few days passed and Sherlock was immensely bored. After James Hardon was taken in no cases came. Sure, there was still Hardon's partner but no leads meant nothing to do until another clue came up. John hadn't been around much either apart from picking up the last of his things. Ava still hadn't met Mary, nor had Mary been around 221b.

Ava could see how pissed it made the detective. He was still in his pyjamas lying on the couch with his eyes closed, hands under his chin. She skipped over to him and kneeled down to mess his already untidy hair.

Sherlock batted away her hand and mumbled, "Go away. I'm trying to think."

The blonde groaned and placed her chin in hands on the arm of the couch, "But nothing's come up. Just step back and take a long view of the case. It'll do you good."

"There's always something, Ava," He held out his hand expectantly.

"What?"

He sighed like it was obvious, "Nicotine patches."

Ava stood and put her hands on her hips, "Why don't you get off of your lazy ass and get the stupid patches yourself?"

Ava knew there was a fat chance that she would get her way. The man was like a five-year-old in the sense of doing things for himself. She pitied John for all he put up with when he lived with Sherlock. But she almost envied him for not having to put up with the detective twenty-four-seven anymore. She knew she could probably leave whenever she wanted, albeit Sherlock made her life more interesting, something that she couldn't get anymore back home.

Sherlock looked up at her and smiled a rare smile, "You and I both know that at times your softness gets the better of your actions and you can't help but succumb to my wants rather than complying to your needs. Admirable, yes, but dangerous."

Ava growled at the man and whacked him lightly with an old newspaper. She crossed to the kitchen and shuffled through the drawers and cupboards. Beakers, test tubes, cutlery and sometimes crockery, but no patches. The tiniest of smirks crossed her features when she'd gone through everything and found nothing of interest. Sherlock had many methods of helping him think, but he favoured nicotine patches and it looked as though he'd gone through them all. She closed the last of the drawers and cupboards and leaned against the archway into the living room.

"No patches, Sherlock. I'm afraid you've used them all for your," she paused for a moment to find the right words, "mind palace adventures, shall we say?"

Sherlock sat up at the speed of light after she finished speaking. He groaned and put his head in his hands, ruffling his hair. He mumbled something unintelligible and walked over to the window, pulling back the curtains.

"He's very late," he whispered.

"Who?"

"Ava, you are about to meet one of the most dangerous men yet. He will offer you money to keep an eye on me. Take it. No second thoughts." He said as he crossed the room with long strides.

The detective took Ava's jacket and scarf off a hook and shoved it into her hands. She tried to protest but he had already pushed the small of her back out the door. She banged on the door with all her might but Sherlock would not let her back in. Ava tried the door into the kitchen. Locked.

She kicked the doorframe and cursed.

_Bastard_.

As soon as she turned, a woman stood at the top of the staircase tapping away on her phone. Obviously, a woman of great importance judging by her clothing. Most probably a secretary. She looked up for a moment before resuming her tapping.

"Miss, uh . . . Ava Quinn, if I'm not mistaken. You mind coming with me?" The woman asked and gestured down the stairs, "Shouldn't take too long."

Ava slowly walked to the stairs and down the women went.

* * *

After the silent trip, Ava found herself deposited in a large warehouse. Damp, with row along row of unidentifiable objects. In the midst of it all was the silhouette of man leaning on an umbrella and a worn, wooden chair.

Ava walked cautiously to the man. He was older than her, wearing an impeccable pinstripe suit with a red tie and pocket handkerchief and taller than that of Sherlock. She thought about how stupid one could be: trusting an unknown woman in a black car that takes her to a dark warehouse at night where an unknown, older man just happened to be waiting for her. It was like she expected herself not to be murdered then and there.

"Ah, Ms. Quinn. Lovely to see that you've joined me for this little chat," he smiled and gestured to the chair with the umbrella. "Please. Sit."

She slowly sat and the chair creaked. It took her a while to actually take in the man's features to realise that this was the man who walked right past her those few days ago. Ava had decided that it really wasn't her space to ask Sherlock about the matter and he never spoke of it afterwards. This man must be the brother of Sherlock Mrs. Hudson was talking about. What on earth was so bad that caused the two have such a bad fight that resulted in a doorframe being shot and a chair flipped? Ava may never know.

"So you're the one who left me bleeding on a step? The one who simply looked at me and went on his merry way? Sherlock's brother?" she had so many questions that she decided to fire them all at him at once. After all, being the brother of Sherlock Holmes he must be pretty damn intelligent.

The man sighed, "Yes. But I do not believe that is why I have extracted you from my brother to this place. You're much more confident than the last one. He didn't sit."

"I don't feel any more _confident_ than that of John Watson."

"You certainly act and sound more confident. But judging by the excessive tapping of your foot, that is not the case. Let's see here . . . Australian, approximately five-foot-two, si–-"

"And a half." Ava interrupted. "Five-foot-two and a half."

He glared at her for a moment before resuming, "Size 10 here, 12 at home, fiery, scar on your left shoulder . . . _liar_."

Her head shot up as soon as he said that dreaded word. The word she didn't want to hear.

* * *

**God, I feel evil for that cliffhanger. If you hate me, well I don't blame you. **

**Soooooo, I hope Mr. Mycroft was in character. He is one of my favourites and I just HAD to include him. Such a legend that man is. **

**I'm still pretty sure I've not improved writing-wise but you guys keep me going. Those reviews mean so much to me and sometimes on a site like this, the amount of follows/favs and/or reviews can determine whether a story is worth reading. So if it's not too much trouble, please leave a review or whatever. If you don't . . . well, you don't XD.**

**I hope you enjoyed and thank you thank you thank you for reading thus far. Reviews, comments, concerns, advice... I take 'em all!**


	4. Chapter 4: The One Word

**This feels like a filler-chapter, but I wanted to publish something. Also, I thought it was kinda cute. It switches between Sherlock and Ava by the way, just to try something different. It is a LOT shorter than the other chapters, but as I said, it feels like a filler-chapter with cuteness. I don't know how anyone else is gonna react to it, but yeah. I really hope you enjoy!**

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**Chapter 4: The One Word**

"What do you mean '_liar_'?"

"I mean what I see in you, Ms. Quinn," he said. "It's a wonder how Sherlock hasn't picked it up yet. Or doesn't he care?"

Ava raised an eyebrow, "What you care about what he cares?"

Mr. Holmes looked down at his umbrella and sighed, "Difficult one, aren't you? I only worry about him. Constantly."

She didn't like being accused of lying. Not one bit. Only, Ava couldn't fathom what the man thought she was lying about and it really did her head in. The Holmes family – so far – seemed rude, obnoxious and unbelievably smart. Was no one close to regular intelligence or manner? It seemed not. Apart from John and Mrs. Hudson. Though, they weren't related to this man or Sherlock in any way as far Ava knew.

"What do I call you apart from Mr. Holmes? It would only be easier if I had your first name." Ava inquired. It seemed like a good way to get off the previous subject she thought. She needed to come off it and cool off.

"I think I'll leave a more formal introduction for later," he glanced down at his wristwatch. "I have some errands to run. My secretary will take you back to Baker Street. Goodbye for the moment, Ms. Ava Quinn."

With those final words, he turned and melted into the shadows of the warehouse.

Ava stared into the dinginess of the place in disbelief. People here seem to like to leave her abruptly in the middle of a conversation. Could be a Holmes thing, maybe all people do it and it just hadn't happened to her before, she didn't know.

After a while of staring into nothing, someone cleared their throat. The secretary from before. Although still glued to the screen of her phone, she motioned to the black car behind them. Ava complied and they left that dark warehouse. Hopefully to not return for some time.

* * *

Rain. That's what her mother warned her about London and sure enough, she was right. It had rained multiple times since Ava had moved to Baker Street, but she was always indoors when the weather had done so.

This time was different.

This time, Ava was out job-hunting. No such luck this time, so she decided to head back to the flat. That's when millions drops decided to slick the roads, buildings and everyone outside. Unfortunately every cab she called out to would speed past her and she was too late for the tube, so she just toughed it out on the paths.

She didn't always have an umbrella on her like the mysterious other Holmes brother, nor a better coat than the oversized fabric one she favoured so much. After today, she thought it would be best to find another more waterproof one.

* * *

He was staring out the window into the bucketing rain. His mind wandered to the woman whom he shared a flat with. She'd gone out hours before and hadn't yet returned. Sherlock wanted to say he was worried, but couldn't find the urge _to_ worry. He thought perhaps he could go out looking for her. He decided against the thought and resumed his violin playing.

But he would keep an eye out. After all, she was independent. She could take care of herself.

Right?

* * *

Ava rounded the corner that connected Marylebone Street and Baker Street. _Almost there_, she thought. As she was walking a car sped past that drenched her in the muck of street water. She groaned and held a middle finger to the offending car.

She passed the coffee and sandwich bar and contemplated whether to pick up a beverage or two. She stood in the doorway of the establishment and racked her brain to remember how Sherlock had his coffee.

_Black . . . How many sugars? None? No . . ._

No matter how hard she tried, Ava just couldn't remember. So she continued on. Maybe she would remember by the time she got to Speedy's. Either way, she knew the memory would come and kick her in the gut when she remembered.

* * *

Sherlock looked up from his violin briefly when someone caught his eye. He smiled. Miss Ava Quinn. He knew she'd be around eventually. It wasn't like she had anywhere else to go. He watched as she pulled the coat around her even more tightly. Sherlock shook his head as she slipped on the gutter to cross the street.

What puzzled him was the fact that before she entered 221b, she stopped.

_What the hell is she doing?_

Ava tilted her head to the sky and spun in a circle with her arms out, a bright smile gracing her features. His brow furrowed and he sighed. Sherlock turned to grab his coat and down the stairs he went, coat billowing out behind him.

* * *

"What _are_ you doing, Ava?"

With a small yelp, she fell back at the sound of a deep voice right near her left ear – much, much too near for her liking. Her back collided with a pair of legs directly behind her and she craned her head back and up to see Sherlock's upside-down face, a crooked smile stretching his lips.

He offered his hand and hauled her up, spinning her round to face him properly. Ava tripped on her feet, not expecting to be spun and fell against his chest. She felt heat rising to her face.

"Nothing really. Just taking in the sights, I suppose," she said quickly as she composed herself. "What are _you_ doing, Sherlock?"

"Making sure you haven't lost your mind. You probably shouldn't frolic in the rain. Catch a cold."

"What do you care?"

"I don't want to catch a cold from you. I just got a case." He said, smiling a genuinely happy smile.

Ava nodded in understanding. For only being out in the rain for a few minutes – or for however long he was there – Sherlock's wringing-wet dark hair fell floppishly around his pale, sculpted even, face. She glanced at her own hair – stuck to itself from the wet.

She realised she was staring at him when he cleared his throat dramatically. She blinked several times before properly getting the words out, "Did you want coffee?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Sure, wouldn't hurt. Black, two sugars. I'll be upstairs."

Ava scoffed as the memory came flooding back. As she supposed, the memory did make her feel like a fool once she remembered.

_Bloody smartass_.

She made a mental note of the detective's preference in coffee for future reference.

* * *

**Soooo, I hope you enjoyed! My exams are done so I have waaaay more time to edit and write and all that lurvely stuff. ****And more time to figure out how to write presentable Sherlock fluff.**

**Anyhow, comments, concerns, questions, all that, I take 'em all! **

**THANKS TO EVERYONE SO MUCH (INCLUDING SILENT READERS) FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT AND ADVICE AND SUCH ESPECIALLY FUCHSIA . GRASSHOPPER, PENWEILDINGROSE, MEL, MIKO HIYASHI, CAPTAINWILLIAMSN7 AND THENERDLING FOR LEAVING REVIEWS! It means a lot you guys and I love you all for it!**

**See you all in the next update!**


	5. Chapter 5: Questions and Answers

**Okey-dokey. This chapter is a lot longer than the rest. Teensy bit fluffy, so I hope no one minds. This chapter is basically telling more about Ava since she's an OC and no one really knows her like I do. Also, sorry about the wait, I had trouble wording this one. I find that listening to the Beatles and Elvis Presley helps me write XD I don't know why. The classics are the best, I suppose. Anyway, you didn't come here to read about me, you came to read about Sherlock and Ava. Enjoy 3 3!**

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**Chapter 5: Questions and Answers**

She hated when he was right. As Sherlock had had, Ava had caught a cold from the wet weather the few days before. 221b had been relatively quiet for no cases had come up and it frustrated the detective immensely, so Sherlock was always around the flat complaining in one form or another.

Ava would see him sneak smug smiles at her while she coughed or sneezed and it made her want to throttle him. When Sherlock Holmes proved someone wrong he wouldn't let it go and move on. Not until the other person said they were wrong. That hadn't happened many times.

As she sneezed rather loudly into a tissue, Sherlock growled and stomped over to his chair where he flopped and raised his legs to his chest.

"What is it now?" Ava groaned as she lifted her head from the cushion on the sofa. Not only was Sherlock a consulting detective, but a world-class complainer in her opinion.

He gave her a "we-both-know-exactly-what-it-is-now" look. Sherlock knew she hated that face which was why he continued to make it. At the sight of said look, Ava groaned and covered her face in the thin blanket wrapped around her. She didn't want him to see the small smile slowly forming on her lips.

Sherlock sighed dramatically and said, "There are no cases! Why aren't there any cases? Scotland Yard can't have gotten any smarter!" These sentences came out in a scramble of words that Ava only just caught.

The detective's next few sentences were unintelligible to Ava as he breezed through them with ease. Being sick only made her mind sluggish and at the speed of Sherlock's speech was incredibly fast; she just couldn't keep up with Sherlock Holmes.

"…it doesn't make any sense! I mean, they have _Anderson_. They're obviously not smart hiring _him_." Ava heard the last of Sherlock's drawls, spitting Anderson's name like poison. It didn't surprise her that he still held a grudge against the man, despite the fact that he tried to clear Sherlock's name.

She was getting tired of his rants and complaints. She had to find him a case. Soon. She couldn't ignore the fact that it had been immensely boring since she moved to London. Boredom was an enemy of both her and Sherlock. Only Sherlock handled it worse than her. That part wasn't even hidden in plain sight. It stood out like a rose in a daisy patch.

"You just finished a case, Sherlock!"

"Well, where's the rest? There _has _ to be more than just that one!"

Ava reached for the Union Jack cushion under head and chucked it at the consulting detective's head, missing by a mile. Sherlock chuckled softly at her failed attempt. He picked up the cushion and dusted it off, depositing it on John's always reserved armchair. Ava was only allowed to sit in that sacred spot on special occasions.

A silence hung in the air for an eternity. When Ava finally broke it she said, "So. How long were you with John before your alleged death, Sherlock?"

He opened his mouth for a while before closing it, as if trying to find the simplest way possible. "If you mean 'with' in an . . . intimate relationship, then that relationship did not exist. We merely lived together. I solved crimes, he blogged about it. Simple as that. Platonic."

"You're awfully defensive about the matter. But I'll hold it to your word." She sat up and curled her legs into her chest, her cheek against her knee.

This was the first time she had willingly left her hair out in some time. She had a terrible headache and leaving out her messy blonde curls was only a more comfortable state to be in. Neither she nor Sherlock had bothered to get out of their pyjamas, both clad in flannel and dressing gowns.

"You haven't told me much about yourself, Sherlock. I've had to rely on John's blog and it seems he tends to over-dramatise things. I think." She wasn't entirely sure how accurate Sherlock and John's escapades were according to John. After all, the two men both saw things completely differently.

"Ava, I don't wish to be interrogated." He said as he steepled his hands under chin. "Besides, what would you want to know?"

Ava beamed when he said those words. She planned to absolutely pummel him with questions. But her plans changed when he added, "And you're the mysterious girl who so conveniently moved _countries_ just to live with a stranger she'd never met. What kind of person would so willingly want to live with someone like me? Not to mention the different genders, not that it seems to bother you.

"What _are _you? _Who _are you, Ava Quinn?"

This series of questions came as a shock to her. Ava just assumed he knew most things about her. Sherlock could just deduce peoples' life stories, couldn't he? Why hadn't he deduced her?

Or maybe he had. Maybe he just wanted to hear her story from herself. Then again, maybe he couldn't see through her. But that thought seemed almost improbable.

She just stared at the consulting detective, unable to say anything. Sherlock stared right back at her in response, eyes burning into her own. She had not expected him to evade her questions and turn the whole conversation around on her.

"I'm just mediocre, Sherlock. There's nothing extraordinary about me. You fascinate me is all. That's part of the reason I moved half-way around the world. Sure, I have a few achievements in life. But that's all that's interesting about me." Ava said sullenly. "I'm not special."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the girl suspiciously. She certainly didn't seem 'mediocre' in his eyes. She was more regular than himself, yes; but not mediocre. None of his friends were mediocre or even close to normal. That's why they stayed. A certain longing attached them to Sherlock's life.

"Then why do you stay? Something extraordinary is the ability to put up with me. I'm a selfish, ignorant . . . asshole - if I may – and a true gift is being able to live and put up with me. You and John can do that." Sherlock said slowly, as if making sure she understood every word that left his lips.

Ava's eyebrows knitted in thought. She knew how much work Sherlock was to not only live with, but even mere association with the man could land one in trouble. Trouble with the law, trouble with people, even trouble between life and death. Although upon the meeting of the younger Holmes, he just screamed dilemma as soon as the girl saw his coat billowing behind him as he ran.

Ava realised the longer she spoke, the more she would strain her already sore throat. So she wouldn't have to raise her voice any more, she crossed the few metres between her and the detective and collapsed into the armchair opposite Sherlock. He was obviously confused as to why she made this gesture, but quickly shook the thoughts from his mind as he remembered how croaky her voice was. It was only logical.

She took in a breath and said, "I stay because I've always been scared of loneliness. I hate the thought of isolation. That's one thing that truly terrifies me, Sherlock. Isolation."

"Autophobia. So you're afraid of not only being physically ignored, but also feeling unwanted or unloved. Correct?"

Ava nodded.

It was at this point in time when she realised how open she was being. Sherlock had somehow managed to take down those careful, intricate walls she'd placed for protection. She wasn't sure why she felt so safe and secure around this man. They'd only lived together for a few weeks and this was the only time they had ever sat down and asked each other questions about one another. It felt surreal to Ava. He had no different way with words. All he did was manage to take down those walls and she didn't know how.

A silence hung in the air. She contemplated breaking it. She didn't want it to be awkward, yet she also didn't want to be rude in case Sherlock was thinking or if he intended for the silence to happen. Finally she gathered up the courage and said, "So have you ever-"

But before she could finish, Sherlock had started talking at the same time she did. They tried again, but their words only got more jumbled as they interrupted one another over and over. Eventually, they just stopped and stared at each other. Ava started laughing and that caused him to chuckle lightly. The pair smiled genuine smiles and although Ava attempted to avert his gaze, he tried to hold eye contact.

"You go first, Sherlock."

"No, I'll be fine. It's not important. What were you going to say, Ava?" He said as he leaned forward in his chair. Ava shook her head to his dismay. "Come on, now. Don't be shy."

"I'm not entirely sure how to word this, so please just bear with me." She inhaled deeply and said, "I don't mean to intrude or anything, but have you ever, um . . . had a more intimate relationship with anyone before?" Her cheeks reddened increasingly as Sherlock stayed silent for some time.

She cursed quietly under her breath. She didn't want to be rude, intrude or madden him. Ava hated her curiosity, but she also didn't want him to get the idea that she interested. But, then again, maybe she was subconsciously interested and just didn't know it yet.

The painfully long silence pissed her off. She jolted when Sherlock took a sharp intake of air, but didn't say anything. He only stared her right in the pupil. His unblinking gaze made her feel uneasy. What was ticking in the consulting detective's head? Something always was, but only he knew. No one was a mind-reader.

She sighed and her shoulders drooped. "What is it, Sherlock? Did I say it wrong? Have I offended you in some way? Just answer the damn question! Say something!" She finally lost it. His silence became too much for her and she just had to interrupt whatever he was thinking.

Sherlock blinked multiple times and his head snapped up slightly as if he himself had come out of a trance. Ava scoffed at his inability to react to a simple question that was asked at least five minutes ago. His intelligence was at genius level, what the hell stopped him from answering? It was these little imperfections that made the man interesting.

"You know what, Sherlock? Don't worry." She stood and made a beeline to the stairs leading to her room mumbling, "This is what I get for being curious."

Sherlock's eyes followed her movements and a look of confusion crossed his face before he stood. Ava heard his footsteps toward her location and spun around only to be greeted by his chest directly behind her. She walked right into him and he didn't even flinch, he merely stood there with a small crooked smile before wiping it away at the sight of her completely unimpressed face. It was then when he realised how short she was compared to him. Even John was a good deal taller than her.

Ava stood on the bottom step so it was easier for the both of them. Once on the step, she crossed her arms because she felt like giving him attitude. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at this and sighed when she raised an eyebrow back.

"I don't understand what I've done."

"Couldn't you just answer? It was just an innocent question. What was so hard about answering a damn question, Sherlock?" she asked, her once raised eyebrow turning into both her brows turning upwards in plea. "I've already told you how I don't like being ignored."

"I'm not ignoring you, Ava, really I'm not. For once, I just wasn't sure how to answer a question. That and I wasn't quite sure why you were asking. Are you," He paused here as if searching for the word, "interested?"

Ava took a sudden interest in her socks and her hair fell over her face. What happened next was very un-Sherlock. The consulting detective lifted her chin and moved her curls to one side. In response, she knitted her eyebrows together.

"I'm not sure, Sherlock. But time will tell, I suppose." She whispered as her eyes darted around his face, taking in every detail.

She accidentally let her eyes linger on his heart-shaped lips and remembered how close their faces were; noses almost touching. She wet her dry lips and moved ever so slightly forward. Her blue-grey eyes searched his pool of crystal-coloured ones. She saw how incredible his eyes were. Like soap-opera-worthy and intense.

All this was interrupted when someone cleared their throat. Both Ava and Sherlock's heads snapped to the side at the sound. There stood John Watson with a broad smile brightening his eyes. John shook his head when he saw the pair glare at him and got down to business.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything, you two."

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**This chapter should just be called "The Return of John Watson" XD. I hope Sherlock was in character, I'm a bit nervous about him in this one. But still . . . John gets in the way. ::applause:: By the way, this isn't all of Ava's fears. They'll shine through later, I think. **

**Anyway, comments, concerns or all round criticism, I take 'em all! And thanks to everyone who reads, you all brighten my day, silent or not 3 3!**


	6. Chapter 6: Letters From Home

**Well, here we are again! Sorry about the extremely long wait, but this one is fairly long and the next is close to being done. I didn't have as much time over break as I thought I'd have as it happens and I have the worst excuse ever: life happens. **

**Also, I own the rights to none of the food mentioned below XD. There's a ****_lot_**** of food mentioned. Nor do I own Sweeney Todd, no matter how much I want to. Or Sherlock. I would love to own Sherlock. But all I own is Ava. **

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 6: Letters From Home**

As it would turn out, all John was there for was the last of his possessions from the flat. Every now and then, Ava would catch the good doctor giving her or Sherlock suggestive glances at one another. She wasn't sure whether Sherlock caught the looks as well, but the man saw practically everything – it was highly unlikely that he missed it.

When John was almost done getting his things together, Ava had remembered she had scheduled a phone with her mother and was running late for it. She retreated upstairs to make the call and this left John and Sherlock alone.

After a few minutes, John started chuckling quietly. The detective's sharp ears picked up the sound almost instantaneously and furrowed his brows.

"What?" he asked.

"You two."

"Yes?"

John wasn't questioning his friend's skill to understand what regular people see and assume. It was already evident that Sherlock wasn't quite up to date in that category. John flopped into his past-time chair and sighed.

John cleared his throat and asked, "So you're sure you're not . . . uh, up to anything else non-platonic with Ava?"

Sherlock's eyes widened considerably and gave the doctor an incredulous look, while John laughed at the detective's shock. Shock was not a very common emotion that bubbled in the man.

"Well, you're very upfront with your remarks today, John. Why do you ask?" Sherlock mumbled as he resumed his previous task and organised some papers into a manila folder.

"What the hell did I just walk in on, Sherlock? Faces aren't normally that close in everyday conversation, you know. Do you mean to 'get off' with her?" John placed inverted commas with his fingers into the air, "If you know what I mean."

Sherlock walked from his desk to his armchair. He eyed John suspiciously and plopped into the chair, raising an eyebrow. "It's only been a few months. Has married life really changed you that much, John? I don't find myself intentionally seducing Ava but-"

He was cut off by a knock from downstairs. He rolled his eyes and got up, his robe billowing behind him. He hated when Mrs. Hudson was out. That meant that he had to answer the door and make tea.

When Sherlock opened the door, a young man holding a small package said, "Delivery for a Miss Ava Quinn." The man's eyes widened when he saw the detective's mussed hair and pyjama attire. "Do have the wrong address, sir?"

"Nope." Sherlock said, putting stress on the _p_ in the word. And with that, he grabbed the package from the postman and closed the door in his face. He could hear the postie's complaints about signing for it, but he ignored it completely.

Once upstairs, Sherlock placed the small package on the coffee table. John's brow furrowed at the object, assuming it was for the detective. He then went out onto the landing and peered down the stairs. The postman was still protesting. Meanwhile, Sherlock looked out the window and smiled when the postie walked off, mumbling and most probably cursing the man.

John came back into the flat and inspected the package. He couldn't deduce like Sherlock, but he could tell it was from her mother or relatives in Australia, judging by the koala, kangaroo and other native animal stamps. He resisted the urge to pick up the package and shake it in case of valuables or breakables. Sherlock would probably do that later anyway.

"Ava! Package!"

John jumped slightly as Sherlock bellowed up the stairs. Less than thirty seconds later, Ava bounded down the stairs. As soon as she saw the brown paper, her eyes lit up.

She raised the phone to her ear and said, "Yeah, it actually just came. I'm going to go open it up, so I'll talk to you later, okay? Yep, I'm very happy. Yeah. Yes, I'm safe. Love you too, mum. Bye." Before she could hit the button to hang up, she heard the woman on the other line say something else, but lost her balance on the bottom step and dropped the phone. Suddenly, the phone was on speaker.

"Oh, are you there, Ava? I'm pretty sure you are. Before you go, is the guy you're living with as good-looking as the pictures are and you say?" Ava's mother spoke very quickly and all three heard everything. Ava scrambled to get the phone and fiddled with the buttons until she finally hung up.

She turned a deep crimson but said nothing. John rubbed the back of his neck and Sherlock cleared his throat, staring at the old flip-phone. Ava shuffled over to the couch and tore at the paper in silence.

While she opened the package, John picked up his own boxes and gave a little wave before leaving. Sherlock nodded at the doctor and Ava returned a tentative wave back. Shortly after the door to 221b closed, Sherlock came slowly to the couch and sat a respectable distance away from the girl.

"Sorry you had to hear about that. She doesn't know when enough's enough," Ava said shortly and removed several boxes of the same chocolate biscuit but in different colours. "Especially with Tim Tams apparently."

Sherlock peered into the box, genuinely curious. It mainly consisted of food, jars of a dark brown spread, these 'Tim Tams', a few small boxes of biscuits, a box of some sort of cereal, a bag of chocolate and a small plastic container filled with cakes. There were also a few DVDs, the odd cassette tape and some photos. But one photo caught his eye, the only one in a frame. He reached for it, but Ava slapped his hand from it.

"Don't touch that. You can look at anything but that photo, the DVDs and tape," She caught him staring at all the food and smiled. "She likes to make sure I eat enough. I had a bit of an eating disorder when I was younger. Hardly ate anything and even when I did, I forced myself to throw it all up again. But I got over it, just a phase, I s'pose."

Sherlock reached for a photo and saw a young man fully clad in an air cadet's uniform, smiling broadly with an arm around a much younger Ava. This photo was the happiest he'd ever seen her, but in her eyes there was sadness. He turned to her and found her staring at the man in the photo.

When Sherlock pointed at him, she said, "My older brother, Warren. Half-brother that is. He died in the air force in Iraq. Gulf War, that is. He was 19 and I was almost 10 when that was taken," He noticed that a tear had escaped her right eye and started travelling down her face. "God, I've just realised how much I miss him. Sure, it was some years ago, but still."

Sherlock reached for the tear and wiped it away, thumb lingered on her cheek for a moment before pulling away. Ava smiled and thanked him before taking the photo and setting it down next to the package.

"What are these foods anyway? Ridiculous names, by the way." Sherlock remarked.

"Right. I forgot these were basically alien to you. Also, you just _have_ to try them later." She picked up one of the jars, "Vegemite, a yeast-based spread that goes on toast, crumpets and such. I'm pretty sure you Brits have Marmite or something along those things."

She selected the plastic container next. "My mother's homemade lamingtons, basically sponge cake in chocolate and coconut."

Sherlock smiled maliciously and mumbled, "I'm sure my brother would like those more than I . . . "

"Hm?"

"Oh, nothing. Continue, please." He said, trying his best not to smile.

She eyed him before resuming. She picked up the bag of chocolate. "Fantales, caramel coated in chocolate and the wrappers have trivia on them. Quite fun actually."

Sherlock scoffed. Surely the wrappers would have doubles and would get boring eventually. Her shoulders drooped when she heard the noise. He waved his hand for her to continue.

Next, she grabbed two of the various boxes of biscuits. "ANZAC biscuits and Tim Tams. ANZACs are oats, golden syrup and more coconut and Tim Tams are biscuits with this cream stuff and once again, coated in chocolate."

He rolled his eyes at the amount of chocolate contained in the package. It'd probably be all melted by now, with travelling halfway around the world and all.

She rolled her eyes back at him before picking up the last box. "Weet-Bix, they're like giant wheat biscuits for cereal. Put honey, sugar or syrup on them if you want. That's it for the food." She sighed and gathered all the food she could and made her way to the kitchen.

As she was putting the foreign food away, Sherlock tried to sneak a peek at the framed photo. He was greeted with a slipper to the forehead and a very miffed-looking Ava. He frowned and fell back into the couch.

He noticed a sticky note in the corner of the package. Sneaking a look at Ava, he quickly reached for the note. In curly, refined writing it read:

_To whoever lives with Ava, I give you full permission as her mother to watch the DVDs. I have full authority to embarrass her and I intend to do so. Enjoy! XXOO_

Sherlock half-smiled at the note and stuffed it into his pocket. It was unwise for Ava to see it. He decided to sneak the footage away at some later time, but for now, he turned the cases over and read "Ava's High School Musical: Sweeney Todd" and "Ava's Primary School Talent Show". Whether she had only a speaking part or a full-on musical number, Sherlock most definitely intended to watch them. After all, he could tease her about them. Getting them out of her sight was the harder concept though.

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Two weeks passed and Ava had her first day of her new job. She started at lunch until around 9:30pm. She had found a job at a local restaurant and was waitressing there. At this point, she was willing to take any job to earn some money and to have an excuse to leave the flat more frequently.

"No shooting the wall, okay? Oh, and absolutely _no _going in my room or you'll get it." Ava warned and she was dead-serious about the matter.

She was dressed in a black, knee-length pencil skirt, black dress shirt, flats and her hair was swept back into the neatest ponytail her hair allowed.

"Ava, you do realise that warning me will only make me want to do those things more? Because that's what you're doing."

She chucked a paper-back Sudoku book at him and a pencil. "Perhaps. But please try not get too bored, you poor bugger." She said with upmost sarcasm in her voice.

She crossed the room to grab her coat and bag, hair swaying as she walked. When she had prepared herself, she walked to Sherlock and messed the detective's hair and when he protested, she laughed and ran down the stairs.

Before the door closed, he heard her yelling, "Try not to miss me too much!" He shook his head at her facetiousness and looked out the window to see her hailing a cab.

As soon as the cab left Baker Street, Sherlock jumped into action. He went up the stairs to Ava's room and got a buzz of excitement as he entered, knowing he wasn't supposed to be in there. On the bedside were the DVDs. When he grabbed them and was about to leave the room, out of the corner of his eye, he could see the frame, faced down on the dresser.

Unable to overcome his curiosity, he picked up the frame and froze.

In the picture was no other than a year or so old Ava and a much younger Lestrade. She was cradled in his arms giggling happily with the man holding a bright smile on his face. Sherlock found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the picture. This would explain why she wouldn't come to Scotland Yard to help him with some files - she obviously knew who Lestrade was and where he worked.

He thought back to Ava's features and saw how closely her eye and nose shape resembled Lestrade's. Her skin type was almost identical as well. Only, her eyes were blue and Lestrade's were brown. He had noticed her hair was dyed when he saw brown peeking through at her roots. He thought she should let her hair go back to its natural colour.

Sherlock was very uneasy after this discovery and wanted to take his mind off it. He took the DVDs and went downstairs to his desk. He popped the first disc into the disc drive of his laptop and pressed play. The detective steepled his fingers under his chin and took in every detail of the production, from the title screen saying _Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street_ to the backdrops and props to every name in the credits.

Ava was the secondary main character called Mrs. Lovett, a baker residing in Fleet Street who was head-over-heels in love with the title character and made meat pies out of the barber's deceased customers, all the while singing about it.

Sherlock had to admit, Ava could sing, even as a near-insane Victorian baker. He wondered if she could still sing like she could in high school. He supposed she was about fifteen or even perhaps seventeen when this was filmed. Either way, she was still a lot shorter than her co-stars.

The play lasted for about two-and-a-half hours though. It was only two o'clock and he still had loads of time to kill. Sherlock decided to leave the primary school play until later.

* * *

By the time Ava had gotten home, Sherlock had watched both DVDs and had very much intended to tease her about it, but very much wanted to know if she could still sing and wanted to ask about her relation to Lestrade.

Ava set her things down on the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch. Sherlock went unnoticed in the kitchen.

As soon as she closed her eyes, he slowly and stealthily walked into the living room, stood in front of the coffee table and said, "Mrs. Lovett, you're a bloody wonder, eminently practical and yet, appropriate as always."

Although he didn't sing the line, the rhythm was still there. Ava's brow knitted, but her eyes didn't open. Obviously, she was tired and groggy.

He took a deep breath in thought and wandered back to the lines of the play. Finally, he picked a line and said, "Mrs. Lovett, how I've lived without you all these years, I'll never know . . ."

At this point, she lost her patience and sat up. Then realisation hit her. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Sherlock started chuckling when her mouth tightened and her nostrils flared. What he didn't expect was when Ava shot up like a bullet, ran over the table and jumped on him. They hit the floor and her hands grasped around his neck.

"Ooh, you bastard. You have no friggin' idea how much I want to kill you, Sherlock Holmes." She spat. "I _told_ you not to go in my goddamn room."

"And _I_ told _you_ telling me would only make me want to do the warned more."

She resembled a goldfish when her mouth repeatedly opened and closed when she was trying to find a comeback.

When he started laughing again she hissed, "_Shut. Up._"

For several minutes, the two just lay there, glaring at one another; Ava glaring a warning and Sherlock glaring amusement. For once, she didn't care about the intensely close proximity and Sherlock just didn't care.

After a while, Sherlock said, "Ava, I really must talk to you about something. Urgently."

She scoffed and replied with, "What, so you go through my crap, watch it and now I'm just expected to not be absolutely pissed with you and talk? You really don't understand people."

"I don't, no. But really, I have to ask you something."

As she gave up, she sighed, "Fine. What do you want, Sherlock?" and sat up, pulling the detective with her.

"What is your relation to Graham Lestrade, Ava?"

Taken aback by the question, Ava stepped back and tripped on the leg of the coffee table, grabbing Sherlock's wrist as she fell. His reflexes didn't quite catch on and they tumble to the floor once more, only positions switched. Both gave a grunt from the impact, especially Ava. She was winded by the sudden added weight of the detective on her chest.

As Sherlock supported himself by his arms, Ava coughed and they both heard footsteps up the stairs.

A concerned-looking Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs and as soon as her eyes fell on Sherlock and Ava, she gasped, "Oh dear! Are you two alright? I heard thumping from downstairs. But I ignored it the first time and got worried the second. So soon after John, Sherlock dear?"

As Ava tried to catch her breath, she let out a choked wheeze as a substitute for a laugh. Sherlock glowered at Mrs. Hudson and helped Ava to her feet.

Mrs. Hudson babbled on for numerous sentences, but truly neither of the pair really listened. Mainly because Ava was still choking and thoroughly thinking about how to answer Sherlock's question and Sherlock was attempting to calm her as she choked on her breath and words.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock bellowed angrily, startling the woman. "If you don't mind, Ava and I are trying to have a conversation and would greatly appreciate it if you left!"

Ava's eyes widened at the man. How rude he could be to the older woman. Ava thought he should be more appreciative of her and her intentions.

"What he means is," She choked out. "is that he has just asked me a very personal and important question and may we please have some privacy, Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson beamed and clapped her hands together while Ava and Sherlock exchanged a confused look. Knowing her, she had probably taken it the wrong way.

"Of course, dear! I'll leave you to it. I'll be downstairs if you two need me." She said as she swept down the stairs in a giddy manner. Lord knew what the woman was thinking.

Ava crossed the room to sit on the couch. She hated the question to be repeated. She didn't know how Sherlock would take the answer and she wasn't sure how to answer it. Her stomach churned at the thought of him freaking out and losing all composure he had. But it scared her to not know what would happen if he was fine with it.

She had changed her last name to her grandmother's maiden name when she turned twenty-one. The last time she had seen her father was when she was seven. She wasn't ashamed of her father's name; she just didn't feel it was actually her name. Her mother never had the surname anyway.

Her thoughts were interrupted when he repeated, "What is your relation to Graham Lestrade? Please, Ava. I need to know."

"For God's sake, Sherlock, it's _Greg_ Lestrade. _Greg_." She articulated. When she saw he had just shrugged off the statement she sighed and said, "Greg Lestrade is my father. I am illegitimate. I haven't seen him since I was seven. I don't intend to see him for some time. He doesn't know I'm in London and he sure as hell wouldn't be happy knowing I live with you. I think."

It took the detective a moment to let the sentences sink in, but nevertheless he understood. He didn't understand her situation though. He never would know what it was like to keep a secret so immense from such a close blood relative.

"Ava Lestrade. Doesn't suit you."

"That's what I said to my mother."

"Will you ever see him, Ava? Ever tell him?" he asked, his forehead creasing with worry.

Ava took in a deep breath and her shoulders rose. "I don't know. It's not like I'll have the time or the motive to."

"I'm seeing him about a case tomorrow morning. You're coming."

His sudden sense of certainty hit her in the gut. He got up and glided toward his bedroom. To make sure she fought for her independence, Ava followed.

As they walked down the hall she said, "How can you be so sure that I'll go?"

"Because you want to."

"_No_, I don't! I haven't seen him in years! He doesn't know what I look like or who I am, Sherlock!" She scoffed.

They turned into the room and Sherlock closed the door. This worried Ava until she saw him hanging up his coat and scarf. She turned to look at the digital clock on the bedside. 10:23.

"And that's why you go talk to him so he knows what you look like and who you are. Even I know this." He breathed while turning around and tilting his head down to look at her properly.

She folded her arms before saying, "Sherlock, you don't understand . . . This scares me. Quite a bit. I hardly know the guy, he hardly knows me. It's a daunting situation and I don't like it."

His shoulders drooped and stiffened again when she wrapped her arms around his person. He awkwardly wrapped his own arms around her shoulders. When she felt his arms around her, she squeezed slightly and that triggered his arms to wrap tighter around her. Eventually, Sherlock's stiffness returned to a more natural state and he laid his cheek on her head. She didn't admit it out loud, but she liked it. Even perhaps a little too much.

They stood like this for several minutes until Sherlock felt her mumble something into his shirt.

"What was that?"

"I said: Do you mind if I stay with you tonight?"

His eyes widened at the question. He thought back to when he asked if she was interested. If he wasn't mistaken – which wasn't very often – Ava was subconsciously becoming more interested. Perhaps even consciously.

Then the right corner of his mouth pulled up. "If you sing."

She lifted her head to look him in the eye. She most definitely had forgotten that he knew that she could sing presentably. "Why?"

"Because I know you can and I want to see you do it in person."

"That was years ago, Sherlock. I don't know if I've still got it in me." That was a lie. She performed in Australia many times before moving to London.

"Don't lie to me, Ava. I'm not like regular people. I can tell when you're untruthful."

She rolled her eyes at his observance. Her hands would clench together when she lied and she was balling the fabric of his shirt slightly behind him.

They let go of each other when she asked, "What do you want me to sing? Something from the musical?"

"Whatever you like." He honestly didn't care as long as he convinced her to show him.

He sat on the bed while she paced the length of the room thinking of what to do. Thinking if this was even worth it. She wasn't even sure why she wanted to stay the night with the man anyway. Oh, God. She wasn't interested intimately in this man was she? Many thoughts bounced around in her head. Song lyrics, Sherlock, relationships, home, her father, her mother . . . Everything.

"Got one. Are you familiar with Ed Sheeran?" She asked.

"Nope."

"Fine." She inhaled deeply and started singing a song called 'The A Team'.

Sherlock listened intently to every lyric flowing from her lips. Ava could still sing, it was obvious. Her voice had matured since high school, but that's to be expected. The song was powerful and it almost immediately clicked with the detective what the song was about. Drug use of all things. Sherlock didn't want to admit it, but he liked it very much even if it was about something very serious. He didn't know since he'd never heard the original song, but she may have made it better with the power Ava put behind it. Did the song remind her of anyone? Possibly.

When she finished, Sherlock gave a polite but sincere clap. Her hands clasped tightly together, she blushed and held her head low.

"And you said you didn't have it in you." He teased.

"Well, I stand corrected." She sighed. "So, I'm staying with you tonight?"

"I suppose that's how it is. But I have to do something."

"Sherlock Holmes. You haven't slept for the past three nights. You're tired and you and I both know it. Get dressed. I'll be back." She gave a little wave when he rolled his eyes.

* * *

When she got back, – clad in an oversized superhero shirt and flannel pyjama pants - he was leaning on the chest of drawers, exhaustion evident in his features. Ava loved it when she proved someone wrong. It gave her this pompous, superior feeling, but she tried to make sure it didn't go to her head.

She went to the far side of his bed and got in, leaving him plenty of room. It was a strange feeling, planning to share a bed with someone who you weren't related to or anything. Much less your flatmate. Much less Sherlock Holmes, the arrogant, genius level intellect sociopath who was supposedly dead in 2011 but miraculously came back a few months back. So basically, she was about to be in bed with a dead man walking. That thought made her mentally giggle.

Ava jumped when Sherlock suddenly said, "Why are your eyes blue, Ava?"

"Funny you should ask that. Look at my eyes."

Sherlock looked up when she sat up. When he saw the irises of her eye, they were chocolate brown in the dim light of the bedside lamp. His eyes widened at the sight.

"Contacts. My sight is terrible. Having lighter hair and darker eyes seemed weird to me so I got blue iris ones. I have clear contacts as well but I don't really use them." She explained.

"Let your hair go back to its natural state. I think it would suit you better. I have dark hair and lighter eyes. It doesn't look weird, does it?" he asked.

"Not at all, Sherlock. But lighter hair and darker eyes though. Why would it suit me better?"

"Don't know. Why did you dye it?"

"Bit a Michael Jackson thing. I didn't want to look like my father. You've seen my nose and eye shape. But I'll try it." She said sleepily.

"Go to sleep." He said.

Sleep eventually overtook Ava and her eyes closed, revealing no more chocolate. Sherlock crossed the room to her and pushed some curls behind her ear gently. He felt better slipping into bed without her watching. Sleep didn't come so easy to the detective. He stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours but every time he checked the clock only a minute or two had passed. Ava stirred every now and then and Sherlock swore he heard her mumbling his name, but he didn't wake her to question it. That seemed cruel even to him considering how tired she was.

When a long hour passed, Ava moved right over to Sherlock. He stiffened under her touch when her left arm draped over his torso. What was he, her teddy bear? He stopped when he looked properly at her face illuminated in the moonlight. Lines of water streaked down her face from her eyes. She had been crying and he hadn't noticed. Guilt washed over him as she slipped on his left arm. He did something he thought he would never do. He pulled the girl close and kissed her forehead. Not out of guilt or pity but because he was sorry and wanted to apologise without waking her. He stayed like this with her until he himself slipped into the world of Nod.

* * *

**Yeeeaahhhhh. Teensy bit fluffy, I know. The next chapter will be up in the week or so, depending on how much time I have.**

**Reviews, comments, concerns, questions etc, I take them all 3!**


	7. Chapter 7: Hello, Dad

**Chapter 7: Hello, Dad**

**As promised, next chapter! It's a little short, but quite packed. So, enjoy!**

* * *

Light streamed into the room onto the face of Sherlock Holmes. He blinked away the grogginess of sleep and remembered how nice sleep felt. He stood up and surveyed the room, feeling like there was something he had forgotten. His attention finally turned to the opposite half of his bed: partially made but the pillow had a gaping chasm where a head had been. Catching the sight of a hair, he leaned in closely to the specimen, picking it up gently and holding it to the light. It was approximately twenty eight centimetres long, curly and mostly light with about two centimetres dark near the root. He mentally slapped his forehead when he remembered Ava, the girl who had stayed the night with him for some unknown reason.

Sherlock's sharp nose picked up a scent of bacon and eggs and heard the crackling of meat cooking on the stove. He also heard a distinct female hum to the crackling. Her confidence in her voice had obviously grown miraculously overnight. Clad in a white shirt, pyjama pants and blue robe, he rubbed his eyes once more and left the room.

Turning into the kitchen, he spotted Ava poking at the pan with a fork. Her hair was loosely tied back as to not get in her eyes or possibly in the food. She didn't notice him quietly sitting on the stool at the dining table. As she turned around, she jumped at the sight of the detective dramatically placing a hand over her heart.

"Don't do that! Give me a heart attack, you will." She said, poking his shoulder with the fork. "You'd better like this. I haven't made it in a while, so bare with me."

He stayed silent. She rolled her eyes and continued cooking.

Sherlock directed his attention to the clock opposite the stove. 8:47. Fairly late for him, but he slept for the first time in approximately 72 hours last night and he felt more refreshed.

"Why did you want to stay last night, Ava?" his monotone voice asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I wasn't in a good state of mind, I suppose. I needed company. Thank you for doing that, it really helped."

They stayed in silence afterwards until the clicking and clinking of plates and cutlery sounded. He looked down at the food in fronts of him and wondered when they got bacon. He shrugged it off under her accusing glare and started to eat for the first time in a while. She always told him how he should eat more, but that she wouldn't force him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile as he willingly ate.

"It's not bad, you know." He mumbled in between mouthfuls.

Ava gave a half-shrug in response. She'd tasted better.

When they'd finished, Ava piled the plates and cutlery into the sink and began to wash them. Sherlock retreated into his room to get ready for the day. She went upstairs shortly after.

By the time she'd come back downstairs, he was already dressed in his usual suit and at his laptop, keyboard clacking away. She swept her hair into a ponytail leaned against the archway into the kitchen, unsure of what to say or do.

She thought about the night before. What had possessed her to ask such a thing of Sherlock? No state of mind should ever have to ask a friend such an invading favour. She smiled at the thought, despite how strange it was. It wasn't a very Sherlock thing to do. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her. Always.

A knock on the door of 221b disrupted Ava from her thoughts and caused his head to bolt up. She heard the door open and Mrs. Hudson cheerily greeting the guest. Probably a client for Sherlock.

"Alright, Sherlock, I've got a case for you." A gruff male voice said coming up the stairs. "Don't know if you'll want it though, probably too simple."

Her head snapped to the stairs and folded her arms over her chest. She briefly looked at the detective and his expression slightly worried her. His eyes were wide, shoulders squared and lips slightly parted.

She crossed the room and asked, "Who is it? Do you know?"

Sherlock looked at her pleading eyes – which were brown today – and said solemnly, "Lestrade."

Ava's world started to crumble at those two syllables. She ducked under his arm and grabbed it as if it were her own life. The pair watched the man turn around the corner on the landing into the flat. Her eyes widened and she clapped her free hand at the sight of her father, hot water filling her eyes and blurring her vision.

Lestrade looked up from the manila folder to Sherlock. "Yeah, um, Sherlock . . . she's trembling."

A mix of sadness, joy and anger swirled in Ava. She was upset that her own father didn't recognise her, while happy that he didn't and all at the same time angry at him for leaving. Even Sherlock could pick up how similar their facial structures were. She attempted to say something, but the words caught in her throat and wouldn't leave. Blood pounded in her temple and she felt like her head would explode. Her heart caught in her throat and tears threatened to spew from her eyes. She wouldn't cry in front of her father and certainly not in front of Sherlock. Apart from when she cried silently last night but he didn't notice her quaking body and choked breaths.

She wanted to scream at the man who was marked as her biological father. Emotions swirled in the pits of her stomach and she didn't know what to do. These emotions could lead her to do or say something she would regret and she didn't want that.

"This is my flatmate, Ava. She has something to say to you." Sherlock blazed through the statement quickly and pushed the small of her back gently. Ava turned her head and scowled at the detective.

"Look, Sherlock, I don't have much time and this is ridiculous." Lestrade said and was about to turn and leave before she grabbed his sleeve.

His brow furrowed and she stared deep into his eyes, her brown ones pleading for him to see the little girl she used to be. The little girl who would run in the yard blowing bubbles and skip and be a kid. The one that would run into her parents' arms after school and that would get so scared of nightmares that she convinced her father to read stories to her at three in the morning. The one that was so confused when her parents didn't live together anymore and wouldn't even glance at each other.

Brown eyes met brown eyes and she stared deep into his soul while he just stared straight. Ava's eyes darted around his, taking in every detail and trying to show him who she was. Lestrade's just stared straight forward, making no indication that he knew her.

She could feel her heart being crushed, shattered and blown up all at once.

Sherlock just held his breath, hoping for the best. After a few minutes, Lestrade rolled his eyes and wrenched his arm from her grip.

"Look, I don't know who the hell you are, but I really gotta go."

As he started down the landing, Ava called, "Gregory Joseph Lestrade! You met and fell in love with my mother, Teresa Violet Quinn-Yearling in Australia almost thirty-four years ago and had me, Ava Violet Lestrade on the twenty-third of December! You lived with her until I was seven and split up for reasons I am unaware of."

Lestrade stopped, eyes widened at the names of his former lover and daughter he had tried to forget.

"She spoke about you. A fair bit, actually. She never really moved on, you know. I know I'm illegitimate, I changed my name. But I went on to police work as well. She said it's in my blood. I mean, I'm giving up on it now, but eleven years I did it." Salty tears pricked at her eyes, blurring her vision even more and coming dangerously close to pouring down her face. "I didn't mean to see you. I meant to stay far from you, but Sherlock works with Scotland Yard and so I tried to keep my distance. Thanks to Mister over there and yourself, that didn't work."

Lestrade let out a low breath and his legs buckled beneath him. He caught himself on the banister and stumbled to the doorframe. Ava stood in the middle of the room, cheeks flushed red, lips tight and shallow breaths leaving and entering her lungs and the consulting detective sat on the edge of his desk, observing the encounter.

She could feel her legs shaking as her father swept down the stairs, dark coat flailing out behind him. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. What could she have expected? That he would just hug her and tell her everything was alright and to stay away from boys? Especially Sherlock, she imagined. Like fathers are supposed to?

Ava clapped a hand her mouth and let the tears flow freely for the first time in years outside of the bathroom. She lowered herself onto the floor, not caring whether the floor was dirty or not and let out the choked sobs she'd kept balled up inside for so long.

Sherlock knelt on the floor beside her and awkwardly wrapped his arms around her shoulders, trying to mimic the way he did so the night before. Her sobs shook her entire body and she leant into him. His cheek rested on her head and he stroked her hair carefully.

Ava raised her head to meet his eyes and her brow furrowed. "Why are you doing this?"

"Am I not allowed to attempt to comfort you, Ava?"

"No, no. It's not that, it's just . . . not very Sherlock-y, if I may. But, thank you." She sniffed, wiping her face.

"My name's an adjective now? 'Sherlock-y'?" he half-smiled. The corners of her mouth tipped up and that's all he wanted to do. "He never gave me that case, though. Good. Rather important one coming up."

He knelt down further, allowing her to place her head on his shoulder. As soon as he felt she had settled, he gently pulled back and kissed her forehead. Ava's eyes darted up and immediately turned as big as plates. Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath as if to say something, but quickly shut it, shook her head and looked down.

Sherlock had grown quite an attachment to her brown eyes and lifted her chin up. As he took in every detail of those eyes, he watched a lone tear streak down her face before wiping it away with his thumb.

"Damn it, Sherlock, what _are _you-"

He cut her off by pressing his lips to hers. Ava's eyes flashed open before allowing them to flutter - for the first time in forever – closed. She felt his hand come to her waist and press her to him, almost engulfing her. Her hand came to his cheek and stroked it slowly and she suddenly felt very warm on her face and in her stomach. But a nice warm that she hadn't felt in some time.

As they pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers.

"I swear to God, that had better not have been a pity kiss, Sherlock Holmes." She breathed, inhaling his scent of something like mint.

"Pitying you wasn't my intention, no. Why would I pity you?" he asked while running his fingers through her hair.

"Oh, I don't know. My father doesn't want anything to do with me, though he and I both well know who each other are." She said, the left corner of her mouth tipped up briefly.

"You don't want pity, though. It's terribly easy to tell."

"Exactly. I just want to make sure that it –"

"Oh, do us a favour and shut up, Ava." He interrupted before crashing his lips back onto hers.

Her shoulders relaxed as he held her still before his hands skimmed back down to her waist. Ava's hands travelled to his face and cupped his cheeks. The kiss wasn't as soft as the last. But, all in all, this behaviour from the usually composed detective confused her. It certainly didn't seem like Sherlock to her. But that didn't mean she responded unenthusiastically to said behaviour.

He lifted her gently so she sat on his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist in the process. As if asking for her permission, Sherlock pulled back for a second and stared into her eyes before continuing. Slowly, he worked her mouth open to deepen the kiss and one another responded keenly to their partner's movements. Sherlock's arms wrapped entirely around her waist and pressed her to his body, only allowing enough space to breathe easily, while her fingers tangled into his curls.

In between kisses, she breathed, "Sherlock, for God's sake, what–" She was interrupted when the man descended to give her neck some attention and hit a sweet spot. Her back arched in pleasure and realised that he was reading her like an open book. He could sense her every move and knew exactly what to do.

Mid-kiss, Ava's eyes flashed open and pushed away. She looked into Sherlock's seeing hurt and immediately felt guilty. So she didn't have to see those sad oceanic-like orbs, she focused on his dress jacket, straightening it.

Her head whipped up, knocking his chin with the top of her head.

"Oh, crap! Sorry, sorry! I'm so sorry." She cried as he rubbed his face, placing her hand over his. "I just remembered that I have work and I, uh . . . kind of hate to end . . . whatever that was and . . . Please don't think I'm rejecting you because – believe me – I'm not."

She came at a loss for words as she untangled her limbs from his body and hauled him up with her. You can't really thank someone for kissing you, can you? Kind of unexpectedly as well. If you had asked Ava a few weeks ago if she thought if she'd be on the floor kissing her flatmate quite heatedly, she would've asked if you had a referral to a good doctor.

"So, all in all, I don't know . . . thank you, Sherlock, I guess." She stuttered, seeing Sherlock's half-smile spreading.

"Go get ready, Ava. It was my pleasure."

* * *

**I'm not very good with kiss scenes. But listening to "Crash Into Me" by the Dave Matthews Band helped a fair bit. I really hope you enjoyed, please let me know. Thanks to everyone for sticking with me!**

**Comments, concerns, questions et al, I take 'em all!**


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